Classic Poem

From Letts to Love, I thought I had been free,
Which cou'd retard my Coming nearer thee;
Had quite pass'd all Obstruction, or Delay,
E'er laid in an Impatient Lover's Way,
That e'er were thought on by Shy Modesty,
Or practic'd by Discerning Jealousie,
I thought I had prevented, or pass'd by;
I pass'd thro' Bolts, Locks, Centeries, and Spies,
Yet found a Linen Guard upon thy Thighs,
To keep from me thy Virgin Treasure, more
Than Rival's Love, or Mother's Care, or Pow'r;
A Pair of Draw'rs, more than a Pair of Spies,
Secur'd your Honour from my Love's Surprize;
Their String, in vain to loosen, did I try,
The Girdle 'twas of thy Virginity;
Whose Strait Knot, was Love's Gordian Knot to me,
To hinder me from over-coming thee;
Curs'd Knot, like that which Lapland Witches tie,
To slacken Nerves, cramp Active Lechery;
To Men, their Use of Women to deny;
Curs'd Witches Knot! made of an Elf-lock sure,
My Bold Love's Disappointment to procure;
To render all my Strength and Passion vain,
For nothing, to give thee and me more Pain;
For nought, to make you Cry Out, as you did
Cry Out, for not losing your Maiden-head;
Not Wedlock's Noose, bilk'd Lover's Hempen String,
Which Deaths, untimely to them, often bring,
E'er interrupted more the Joys of Life,
Or, betwixt Friends, begat such needless Strife,
Or, caus'd to Lovers, more Shame, Pain, or Grief;
No Turkish Bow-String to Love's Soldier, did
His Hopes of gaining Honour, more forbid;
Or, the Brave Man's Good Fortune more prevent,
In being his Bold Aim's Impediment;
The Knot made me, but a Vain Fumbler prove,
My Hasty Passion, to retard my Love;
The Knot, so like the Jealous Marriage Noose,
Made me less Free with thee, and thee less Loose;
The Knot, Love's Ties betwixt us, did prevent,
Turn'd to my Curse that Blessing, thy Consent;
So made thy Kindness, and thy Willingness,
More my Love's Torment, as meant more its Ease;
For tho' at last, you Cry'd Out, as you did,
'Twas more to keep your Fame, than Maiden-head;
And you did but oppose my Passion more,
That it might more, to quell yours, raise my Pow'r;
Yet 'tis not strange, that you (my Dear!) should be,
(Tho' I was uppermost) too hard for me;
Since that, at that time, you, fierce Dear, did wear
The Drawers, which the Breeches were, as 'twere,
So but, as thou thy self dost by thy Dress,
Thy self, but an Hermaphrodite confess;
Like one, thy Strength was but thy Pleasure's spight,
Had'st (as the more of Man) the less Delight;
Yet you, your self more strong for me had shown,
Had you not struggled, but let me alone,
When I'd have pull'd (as 'twere) your Breeches down;
Since over me (dear She-Sir) had your Pow'r,
(Had you had less of Man) been much the more.